


taste the bitterness and the faint sweet behind it

by summerstorm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Consent Play, Established Relationship, F/M, Fingerfucking, First Time, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 23:38:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He feels Allison's teeth graze his hipbone just before she stops, her fingers curling around the elastic of his briefs as she looks up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	taste the bitterness and the faint sweet behind it

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a poem by Dorianne Laux.

He feels Allison's teeth graze his hipbone just before she stops, her fingers curling around the elastic of his briefs as she looks up. "Scott?" she asks, like she needs him to focus on whatever she's planning to say.

It's not like he's not already looking at her. He lasted five seconds with his head on the pillow before the need to watch her won out. Now he's resting on his elbows, and she really has his full attention. Like, all of it. 

Maybe she doesn't want to be observed this closely. Maybe he should just—let her do whatever without gawking at her the whole time. 

Maybe he should just _answer_. "What? What's wrong?"

The corners of her mouth twitch that way they do when she's suppressing a smile, and there's a glint in her eyes that's simultaneously exciting and terrifying. He's still not sure how he feels about Allison's teasing streak. He mostly just hopes he'll have a chance to figure it out, preferably through experience.

It's actually really hard to remember what his reservations are when she's biting her lip and ducking her head and having trouble meeting his eyes. Sometimes he's seriously amazed they've managed to get anywhere near sex, and not in the way he still sometimes wonders if he made the whole thing up. He's done his best to let her initiate everything, every first at least, and she's—flushed, soothing out the reddened part of her lip with her tongue, clearly embarrassed, and it's adorable but it also makes him wonder if he should let her push through it or if he should put her out of her misery somehow.

He just has no idea how.

"Scott," she says again, and he nods, so fast it's a little shaky. "Ask me for it."

"Ask for what?" His frown is met with a forward tilt of her head and raised eyebrows. "Oh. _Oh_. I—" He shakes his head wildly, trying to come up with words. "Could you—" That's awful, that sounds horrible. He hears the rest of the question in his head, all these versions of it with different wordings and different tones, and it all sounds weirdly coercive. And just telling her to do it would be even worse. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

Allison rolls her eyes and pulls up the elastic just to let it go. It slaps against his skin, but the sting is dull and fades quickly. "I know that, doofus. I just want to hear you say it. Tell me you want it."

He glances from her face to the erection his briefs all but showcase and back again. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Well." Her lips stick out for a second. "It's like you said that one time, just because I was wet that didn't mean I was okay with anything? Maybe I'm just not sure you want me to suck you off specifically." The embarrassment is gone from her features, but her fingers are fidgety around his hipbone, her thumb tapping low on his stomach.

"I do," he says, "I really do. I just—if you need me to ask then I'm not sure you should do it. And saying no is harder when—"

"Scott," she says firmly, her lips thin. There's something about that that makes Scott swallow and just—do what she says. Take it at face value.

"Please suck my dick," he blurts out, and she doesn't give him a chance to second-guess himself before she grins wide and happy and kind of smug. Between that and the fact that she's lying on her belly between his knees, there's very little room left in him for embarrassment.

Her hands settle on his thighs, squeezing. "See, that didn't kill you," she says. Her hair ghosts over his stomach when she leans down to lick the strip of skin just above his underwear, and her chin brushes along the head of his dick through the fabric. It's sudden and the most attention his dick's got since she started kissing and biting her way down his chest, and he has to lie down again just to force himself to breathe.

Allison's fingers tease at his hips again, tugging at his briefs so lightly they move less than an inch, and then the warmth of her mouth and her hair disappears. "Allison," he breathes after her.

"I was just thinking," she says, "I could totally still say no."

"What?" He raises his head to look at her, and the mattress shifts as she lifts herself onto her hands and knees.

"You were worried I wouldn't be able to say no, right? But I totally could," she explains, and starts crawling up his body. "I can." Oh, god. "See? I'm not going to go down on you."

"Allison—"

She shushes him, settling over him with her hands on either side of his shoulders and her face hovering over his. "I'm not. And I can still like that you asked. In fact, I do like that you asked." She leans her head down to kiss him, deep and slow. He doesn't notice the rest of her body is leaning down too until he feels something damp on his bare thigh, cotton and skin, and the hollow of her hips touching his crotch, close enough to rub up against. 

His hands slide down her back to cup her ass as he bends his leg, making it easier for her to grind down on his thigh. She starts to roll her hips against it, slow and shaky, and whimpers softly into his mouth. He moves one of his hands to her hair, kneading at the back of her head for a little while before cradling it and using his other hand as leverage to roll them over. He half expects her to keep going until she's on top again, but instead her arms come around his neck and her hips jerk up, seeking friction.

"Oh, fuck me," she murmurs, almost too quiet and slurry to make out, half her face hidden in the pillow. It's just empty, frustrated words, not an actual request, but he can't help sneaking a hand between their bodies and touching her, feeling how wet she is around the twisted crotch of her panties. He drags it aside without thinking and goes back to stroking her, only remembering to look up when she lets out a crackly moan.

"Is—is this okay?" he asks, and she bobs her head hastily, spreading her legs and pushing frantically at her underwear.

"Take them off," she says, almost a plea. It's so hard not to get stuck on that, on the way she's practically begging, the surreality of it when he thought he'd be the one doing that tonight, when he doesn't even know how to—doesn't even think he _could_ tease her the way she does. " _Scott_ ," she whines, far too bossy for someone who smells so desperate, but he listens, yanking her underwear off her feet and crawling over her again, his hand falling straight between her legs.

He buries his head in her neck as he slips a finger inside her, trying to hold still and focus on the softer smell of her collarbone. He can still feel the heat of her body, and it's impossible to block out her arousal—he wouldn't want to anyway—but it's easier to focus on her when he's not overwhelmed by her scent, easier to start off slow, work a second finger in when she asks for more, angle his wrist so the back of his thumb slides along her clit. 

Her head's tipped back, neck stretched and exposed, and he sucks on a patch of skin, soft, making sure he doesn't leave any marks. She keeps murmuring things, nonsense and encouragement and a curse or two, her hips pushing against his hand. Her scent gets headier as she gets closer, and he has to go after it, has to get more of it. Her fingers tangle in his hair when he mouths his way down her chest, biting at the swell of her breasts and lapping up the marks, pushing her bra down with his mouth to suck on her nipples. The way she arches into his mouth and hand is such a rush, of power and heat and want and _everything_ , and when he rubs her clit a little harder and she starts clenching around him, moaning brokenly, he can feel his fangs trying to break out.

He breathes her in instead, keeps touching her through her orgasm, softer and slower as she comes down, relief coming off her in waves that help calm him down. She slumps on the bed, her chest rising and falling, her arm covering her eyes, laughter bubbling out of her mouth like she can't contain it. He doesn't laugh—he's too keyed up to laugh—but his lips curl into a smile. She just looks so _pleased_ , and he's completely in awe of that, of the fact that she's like this because of him, and in awe of her.

"Stop staring at me, it's weird," she says. He refrains from pointing out that in the grand scheme of things, it's probably the least weird thing he's done, because it would just make him look bad, and that it's not even the weirdest thing going on right now, given he can hear her heartbeat and smell how she feels.

He lies on his back next to her instead of saying anything. It seems like the best idea. Plus, when she cracks an eye open, he can see it from here. 

"Staring from a different angle is still staring," she points out, but she's smirking at him, and there's something new thrumming through her body, some kind of excitement, intent as she throws a leg over his and props herself up on all fours over him. She kisses him wet and dirty, but pulls away after only a few seconds with a look of determination that catches him off guard.

"You're scaring me," he feels compelled to tell her, and she laughs again, harder than before. God, she looks so good when she laughs like that.

"Trust me," she says, kind of cryptic, and starts kissing her way down his body again, only it feels rushed, not the thorough, kind of uncertain way her hands roamed all over him earlier. She cups his dick through his briefs without warning, and his entire body suddenly feels like it's switching on, like it's just been given permission to do so. 

"But you said no," he points out, his head kind of hazy.

"I didn't say no, I said I _could_ say no. If I wanted to."

This time she doesn't stop; she pulls his underwear down to his knees and gets her hand on him again, stroking him a couple of times before she slows down and leans in to lick the tip.

"Holy shit," he groans. His arms flail at his sides, fingers grasping futilely at the sheets for something to hold onto, anything that's not her because he doesn't trust himself not to push her. He clasps a hand over his mouth when her lips wrap around the head of his cock, sucking, and it turns out to be the worst idea ever because his fingers are wet from her, they smell like her, and now that they're under his nose he can't bring himself to move them away. 

It's too much, the scent of her on his skin and all around him, the flow of light-headed giddiness he can't pin down with certainty, and the wet heat of her mouth, the flicks of her tongue when she pulls off, the cool rush of her breath. She's careful, but not always careful enough, sloppy, and the brief moments her teeth graze his dick are intense in a way he didn't expect, a _good_ way. He bites down on his knuckles, tasting Allison on them, and forgets to warn her before he comes, spilling into her mouth at first, his jaw slack and his eyes shut tight. She moves away and jerks him off the rest of the way, whispering encouragement, words he can't even make out.

When he opens his eyes, she's lying on his side next to him, fingertips poking at his stomach, the mess there, and she's tentatively licking the corners of her mouth, looking hesitant. He's about to say he's sorry when she notices him looking and smiles at him, and all he can do for a moment is smile back and reach out for her, pull her close and kiss the crown of her head, her forehead, her nose. 

She's the one who tilts her head up to kiss him on the mouth, and he kisses her back quickly, shallow, because they have less than fifteen minutes left before her parents come back and his dick is already twitching from what little of himself he can taste on her lips.

"I'm giving you a minute," she whispers against his neck, "but then you're helping me clean up."

"That's fair," he says, nodding hazily, and focuses on her heartbeat, slow and steady, slowing and steadying his own.


End file.
